KO
by trufflemores
Summary: 2.06. Zoom knocks Barry off his feet hard. The aftermath isn't easy, either. Written for the lovely Kitcat92.


"He's gone," Barry rasps, reaching up with a hand that is bloody and a hand that is cold and a hand that hurts like hell to grasp Cisco's shoulder, because it is the closest object to him that is not painted in white tile cordoned neatly into lines for the eyes to follow but his eyes are not following as his vision clouds over and he grasps Cisco's shoulder with greater urgency. "Zoom, he's-"

"Easy, buddy, don't say anything," Cisco advises, and his voice is at the end of a bad radio connection, standing apart in a tunnel, voices echoing in the vast long void space between them as they wave dwindling flares at each other, and Barry's hand is still slick with his own blood and still cold and still crushing Cisco's shoulder, so he forces his fingers to let go and his entire arm falls to a hard table. He convulses once in pain. "This'll help," Cisco says, and gets a nasal cannula underneath his nose.

It doesn't, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Cisco because there is something prying his chest open, a gremlin trying to thrash its way free, and he forces his arm that weighs six pounds to drag across his chest, only to be intercepted and removed from the scene, and the monster keeps straining, heart rate kicking up in response. "My chest hurts," he tells them, because he can see Caitlin, too, but his voice is muffled and heavy like the arm stuck at his side on the table, and he can sense through a piercing headache that he is bleeding out internally, and there is no monster, and no one can hear him.

He tries to sit up because he can communicate better when he can sit up, but the second his back lifts one-tenth-of-an-inch above the board beneath it the monster cracks open his chest, and ribs formerly held in stasis by a sort of delirious forgetfulness rattle and splinter and fumble for new purchase in his broken chest. For half a second, he doesn't respond, disconnected from his body, aware that this is what it must be like to be crushed beneath a car.

Then he screams until his chest catches fire, restrained by weights on both shoulders, but not legs.

Black stars drip across his vision, but even they cannot stunt the pain. He can feel the bruises spreading across his torso like rain, accumulating in dark puddles here and there, but they are nothing next to the phantom icicles dug deep into his chest, one below his sternum, the other above his navel. He remembers the needle points cutting through skin, driving deep into him, breaking through anything that dared to oppose them, muscle, sinew, bone. Then there was a sluggish sort of unconsciousness thickening in his blood and threatening to choke off everything he was, tearing his grasp from the lightning warmth that wanted to save him.

It's trying to save him now, but he cannot grasp it. He fishes blindly with a hand like it is a tangible thing to grasp and convulses when he feels a third icicle stab through his chest, no-more-no-more-no-more- _please_ , his words a babbling stream of consciousness no one can decipher or discern or pause to listen to, so he gives up on speech and screams instead because volume can compensate for vocabulary.

He's choking on red, drowning in red, and Cisco and Caitlin are both speaking but he cannot hear them, can only taste the copper trickling down his lip. Frantic, gasping, he pleads, "Make it stop, make it stop, please, it hurts, _it hurts_." He tries to sit up and hands pin him down, and fury ignites pain as he strains against them, a bloody hand that is cold and shaking on someone's shoulder as he tries to assert, "I can't - I can't breathe, I can't breathe-"

The third icicle is withdrawn with agonizing slowness from his chest, like a glacier in recession, and for a moment the whole world is bright and light like the noise overhead, but there are no boxed lines for his eyes to follow, and he drowns in the obscurity, aware of the body he cannot help and straining to be free of it. He can feel little points of pressure demanding attention, groans whenever they touch them, whenever anyone touches him, even the hand that rises to gently cup his face because he is tired, he is so tired, please, help him let _go_.

They make him more comfortable and still his body clings with an epileptic ferocity to its locked position. The upper half of the suit is withdraw and he has to gasp very quickly to get any air in, but they don't take off the lower half of the suit - there's simply a tug shortly after the jacket is pulled away, and then nothing more. He wants to open his eyes, to ask, to say that there's something wrong there, too, his leg, his leg, but he can't speak.

Instead he braces himself to not feel it when Caitlin finally gets to his left leg because he felt it break during the fall, a terrible branching lancing pain that surged from foot to hip to chest in an instant, globally destabilizing, every limb seizing up in sympathetic shock. Paralyzed, he hadn't been able to fight it when Zoom yanked him to his feet and then it all happened quickly, everything happened quickly, and Zoom didn't bother with quantity, didn't deliver the thirty-two hundred blows that the Reverse Flash tended to: he simply slashed and brought down everything, one-two-three-four-five-CRACK.

Barry gags, and they turn him onto his side before he heaves bile into a plastic bucket. He tries to curl inward, to cry, to run away from them and their world and their pain because he is beyond participatory, he is beyond comprehension, he is an animal in desperate pain and he needs to get away, but they won't let him, not the blinding white lights or the noise or the feeling of hands on skin too tender to touch, and he sobs instead. "It hurts," he wheezes, and feels a hand in his, and wants to cry, because Iris, Iris, it's Iris. He tries but can't say her name, can't say any of their names.

He whines in pain when they finally help him onto his back, closing his eyes tightly. He flinches and shivers whenever they touch him, trying to help but only making it worse, everything-will-be-fine-if-you-don't- _touch-it_ dredged up from dark nights in his childhood, but he cannot fight them, not all of them, and can only endure the cold harsh crusade they must lead to save him before he dies.

He can only endure, can only endure, can only endure…

. o .

"I think he's waking up."

His head twitches because he never left, but he must have, because he doesn't remember the bed being soft or warm, or himself being soft or warm, or the world carved in softness and warmth.

A soft but unyielding wall stands between him and consciousness, and even when Caitlin asks, "Barry? Barry, can you hear me?" and he replies with an up-ticked eyebrow, he is not truly there.

Slowly, he opens his eyes, acknowledging his company with a simple rasp of, "Hey." Cisco and Caitlin exhale, smile. He wants to smile back because that is what he is supposed to do, but his mouth is too tired, and blinking once takes it out of him.

"You scared the crap out of us," Cisco announces, filling in the space for him. "You were gone for a long time."

He has to ask, has to because he can't hope to recover if he doesn't know: "How bad is it?"

Caitlin's hand on the side of the bed is close, but not quite touching him, and he knows the glass feeling is an answer, in and of itself. "Bad. If you didn't heal so quickly, I'd be very worried."

"Linda, how is she?" he redirects, needing to know but still so tired, so tired, God, he wants to sleep forever.

"She's fine," Cisco assures. "She's staying out with some friends out in Coast City."

His eyelids slide low, almost shut. _Rest_ , the softness and warmth around him compel. _They've got this. If they needed you, they would-_

And then it hits him. "Zoom?"

Caitlin opens her mouth, but finds no answer. Cisco jumps in softly: "Let's - let's worry about Zoom when you're up and about, okay?" His hand falls, and Barry hears the soft thump, but-

 _Something's wrong_.

They're lighthearted, but persistent, and when he tries to sit up to investigate Caitlin holds him down. He understands because there is only a fragile truce between him and unspeakable pain, but he needs this, he needs to find out what's wrong. The cold air on his torso and the cold air in his nostrils are a sharp contrast to his racing heart, his sweating palms as he reaches for his legs.

He slides his palms over his thighs, but nothing changes. They aren't there. He can't feel them. Tongue heavy, he can't speak for a long moment. "No, guys- I can't feel my legs," he explains, and they both stop talking, and they both stare at him as he feels with increasing desperation around his thighs for any sensation. Nothing. _Nothing_. His heart beats so fast he can barely feel it. The machine stops registering it. "I can't feel my legs," he whispers.

Cisco is silent. It's Caitlin who gently presses down on his thigh where his own hand is. "Nothing?" she confirms.

A tear slides down his cheek. "What happened to me?" he whispers, anguished, and tries to sit up again but Cisco catches him, maneuvering around Caitlin. She proceeds methodically down his leg, pressing down here, squeezing there, and he can only tell because he watches her hands adamantly, and still _nothing changes_.

"Easy," Cisco says, rubbing his shoulder gently as Caitlin squeezes his foot, hard enough her hand shakes, but he just sobs because he _can't feel it_. "Easy, it's okay."

"I can't feel my legs," he tells Cisco, because Cisco must not have heard, how can Cisco think any of this is okay if Barry _can't feel his legs_. "I - I can't-"

"I had hoped," Caitlin begins, but then she halts, and redirects gently, "Rest. We can check again in a few hours."

"They're broken," he sobs, and it's all his broken body can do to cry. Cisco gathers him into a gentle hug, and he clings to Cisco's sleeve, feels the soothing, "It's okay, it's okay," hummed against him but can't hold onto it because they're _broken_. "This can't be happening," he gasps. "Cisco, please-"

"Caitlin's right," he says in the same soothing tone as before, quieter than Barry has ever heard him. "We can check again later, but - let's just take a breath now, okay?"

"How long," Barry warbles, and has to try again before he can say it all: "How long was I out?"

Cisco squeezes him, gently lets him go. Caitlin fills in carefully, "Fourteen hours."

He closes his eyes, and tries to breathe, because that's twice as long as it's ever taken for a broken bone to heal.

"Do you want some space?" Cisco asks, and he forces his eyes open again, looking at the two of them. He only needs to shake his head the tiniest bit for Cisco to draw up a chair, screeching halfway before he scrambles to lift it, Caitlin's admonishing look making Barry feel a little calmer. Normal. This is normal. "I could recite _The Odyssey_ from memory, if it helps."

"Cisco," Caitlin warns.

" _Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story,_ " Cisco bellows with great verve. " _Of that man skilled in all ways of contending / The wanderer, harried for years on end! / After he plundered the stronghold / On the proud height of Troy._ That's all I know," he confesses.

Barry huffs a soft laugh that hurts. "That's more of _The Odyssey_ than I know from memory," he murmurs. His eyelids are too heavy to open. "Could you … could you call Joe? I wanna …"

Obligingly, Cisco gets him on speaker in six seconds. " _Cisco?_ "

"Joe," Barry rasps, his voice a heavy, relieved timbre. "Hey."

" _I'm on my way,_ " Joe says, and Barry hears a chair shoved back, his footsteps brisk. " _Stay on the line._ "

"I'm not dying," Barry promises softly, even if it kind of feels like he is. Everything hurts in a low, aching way. And now he really, really wants to sleep. But he wants to obey Joe more, so he says, "I'll stay with you."

" _How are you feeling?_ "

Barry exhales slowly. It's enough.

" _I'm on my way_ ," Joe promises, and Barry hears him impatiently stab a button in an elevator. " _Shouldn't have left._ "

"S'fine, Joe," Barry assures. "You needed to keep everybody safe."

" _I need to keep_ you _safe_ ," Joe replies, and Barry can almost feel him poke him in the chest with a friendly thumb. " _Never letting you out of my sight again._ "

"S'gonna be hard to enforce."

" _Not getting out of it that easy,_ " Joe huffs, walking briskly. " _I'm almost to my car._ "

"Joe, it's okay," Barry says, but his voice is already tapering, and he knows, he knows, that he can't hang on much longer. "S'okay."

"We promised not to let him out of our sights," Cisco chimes in. "So far, so good."

Barry huffs, and that hurts, too, and he tilts his head to one side. The neck brace interferes, but it doesn't force him to change position. "'M really tired," he admits apologetically.

Joe's sigh is heavy, but fond. " _Yeah, I'm not surprised. I'll be there in ten minutes._ "

"Fifteen," Barry murmurs. Then he hears the siren running and wants to laugh, but it's beyond him. "Joe…"

" _My son is in critical condition. I get to use it,_ " Joe replies firmly, already on the move. " _Ten minutes._ "

"Where's Iris?" Barry asks, fishing for and finding Cisco's hand, squeezing it. Needing something to ground him, to keep him here and now and not floating away to that nice soft and warm place where he can't feel anything. "She okay?"

" _She drove Linda out to Coast City. It's a ten-hour round trip. She'll be back by five._ "

"Time is it?"

" _Just shy of one._ "

Barry sighs, and knows it sounds a little sad. "Good," he says aloud.

" _She wouldn't have left your side if Linda hadn't needed someone,_ " Joe says, siren still ringing in the background. " _We weren't leaving you, Bar, until we had to._ "

"No, I know," Barry assures, his words slurring. Cisco gives his hand a little squeeze; he doesn't squeeze back. "I'm gonna … gonna have to call you back, Joe."

A beat. " _All right, Bar. Rest up. I'll be there when you wake up this time._ "

"Mm. Love you."

" _Love you too._ "

Barry doesn't even hear Cisco hang up, the words chasing him down into that soft and warm and untouchable place.

. o .

Barry is only half-awake, humming occasionally in response to Caitlin's queries and remarks, letting her check him over, before there's another voice in the doorway and he forces his eyes open to look at _Iris_.

"Oh, my God," Iris breathes, rushing forward, instinctively reaching to hug him before pausing. "Hey, honey, hi," she says instead, sinking slowly into the chair vacated by Cisco mere moments before. "Hi."

He holds out a hand and she clasps it gently, squeezing it. "You can hug me," he tells her, because he is still too weak to extend the offer physically, and she gratefully leans forward and wraps him in her arms. "Hi," he murmurs, mouth against her shoulder. "Hi."

"I didn't think you'd be up again," she admits, rubbing his shoulder gently. "Dad said you were asleep when he came."

"Yeah," Barry admits, blinking owlishly. His senses come back slowly; his sense, even more so.

"Joe and Cisco should be back soon," Caitlin adds, sitting in a chair nearby. "They stepped out to pick up dinner."

"Nope, we're amazing," Cisco replies, stepping into the room, brandishing a bag of take-out and beaming. "Perfect timing."

Barry's stomach growls. Iris releases him with a smile, eyes misty but _relieved_ , so relieved it aches in his chest. He sits up with Cisco and Joe's help, groaning softly. "Take a breath," Joe advises, holding onto his shoulder for a moment longer before stepping back. "No rush."

"Can I take this off?" he asks Caitlin, reaching up slowly to tug on the neck brace.

In response, she stands and unhooks it for him, carefully easing it off his neck. "Slowly," she warns.

He nods a little and winces as a lance of pain shoots up his neck. "Weren't kidding," he muses, holding his head very still for a long moment.

"If it's too much-" Caitlin begins, but he manages the tiniest of head-shakes.

"No, it's good. It's good," he promises.

And it's not - none of it is - but damn, if Big Belly Burger doesn't hit the spot. He only makes it through two burgers and a box of fries before dozing off while Iris answers Cisco and Caitlin's questions about Linda, one hand in hers, the warmth of it almost enough to chase the rest of the pain away.

. o .

From the darkness, Zoom lofts him into the air by his throat and growls, " _Heroes die._ "

Barry's eyelids fly open, gaze fixing on the ceiling, heart pounding. Turning his head, the first person he sees is Cisco, tapping away at his phone. Opening his mouth, he manages a soft, "'Sco."

Cisco pops up like a Jack-in-the-Box, springing to his feet in one smooth bound and asking, "Hey! How are you feeling?"

He says, "Zoom." And his heart continues to race, and he continues to listen, quietly, for the monster in the shadows.

Cisco says, "It's okay," but Barry shakes his head a little, and it hurts.

"He's - he's near, I can feel it." His breath won't stop coming fast. Caitlin appears in the doorway, asking something he doesn't hear. He tries to sit up, and can almost feel Zoom's clawed hand slashing across his back. Panicking, he shoves himself upright, and cries out in pain. "I've gotta-"

"Whoa, whoa, easy," Cisco chides, hands on his shoulder, and it reminds Barry of another time and place, without Zoom, but Zoom is a threat _now_ , and he has to- "Zoom's gone," he says. "Harry's been tracking any signs of him. He's gone."

"He's - he's coming back," Barry says, unable to keep the whine of fear out of his voice. "Cisco-"

"Barry," Caitlin says, holding his other shoulder, carefully but inexorably guiding him back to lying down. "It's okay. It was a dream."

"Where's Iris?" Barry asks, barely hearing them even as they try to reassure him that she's near because how can she be? "Joe?" He repeats it, louder, and then Joe is there, gathering him up in his arms, and he's scrabbling for purchase against the back of Joe's shirt, trying to sit up more. "Joe, Joe, he's - Zoom, it's-"

"Stay with me," Joe suggests, holding onto him, gentle but unyielding. "I've got you."

"He'll kill you," Barry whispers, and he feels ashamed at the tears that trickle down his face. "He'll kill you, and I can't stop him."

"Should I wake up Iris?" Cisco asks off to one side.

"She's not safe, she's-" Barry strains to escape Joe's grasp, succeeds in nearly falling over the bed, prompting an immediate and impressive scramble from Cisco to keep him from toppling to the floor.

By the time they get him back on the bed, Iris is there, looking a little sleep-rumpled and it occurs to him that it is exhaustingly late but Zoom, Zoom won't rest, Zoom won't quit and now Zoom _knows_ that he's weak, that he can't protect them, and he has to-

He's babbling, his mouth spilling words he didn't give it permission to speak. "We've gotta- we've gotta be ready, I have to - I can't let him hurt anyone - I'm not ready, I'm-"

"We still have the Speed guns," Cisco says slowly, again in that quiet, soothing tone from before, "and we've locked down the facility. This is the safest place in Central City, Barry."

"Central's not safe," Barry insists, rambles, losing focus as he goes on, "it's not-it's not - Singh, I have to talk to Singh - he's not safe, no one's safe, there are so many people and I can't-"

Iris squeezes his hand. "Zoom isn't here," she says. "He's not in the city."

Barry lets out a strangled noise because he's never going to stay away he has to _stop Zoom_ or Zoom will-

He can't stop talking, can't stop pleading with them even as he loses track of what he's saying altogether, just making the occasional protest when they assure him that Zoom is gone because no, no, no, and he leans forward suddenly and plants both hands on his legs and _feels_ them.

He freezes, and when he doesn't move at all, Caitlin asks, "Barry? What happened?"

"I -" He has to swallow, tracing his hands over his legs. Tears trickle down his face. "I - I can feel -" He squeezes his thighs, sobbing. "I can feel them."

Cisco's relief is so palpable in his exhale that it shares the mood of the entire room. "See? It's gonna be okay."

And for the first time, Barry dares to believe him.

. o .

A week later, when he finally puts one foot in front of the other - however painful, however exhausting, however frustrating it is to come so far and fall so short - he knows that he will do whatever he can, whatever he must, to protect them from Zoom.


End file.
